


Not Like the Movies

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Author has booked a plane ticket straight to hell, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Precious Peter Parker, Slow Burn, Starker, That's gonna be my author tag for my anon works in case you were wondering, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Will update tags and rating as I go, feelings are hard and growing up is weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-04-24 00:18:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19161952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It’s there- the tiny, itty-bitty spark ofmaybe. A dangerous, dangerous idea.The idea that maybe this isn’t one-sided.





	1. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It’s there- the tiny, itty-bitty spark of **maybe**. A dangerous, dangerous idea._
> 
> _The idea that maybe this isn’t one-sided._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write a Starker fic because they give me so many feelings and I put it off for so long but here I am, finally. Trying to get it out of my system, and hopefully make a worthwhile fic meanwhile I guess?
> 
> Posted under Anonymous bc I don't want any of that flak that comes with being a Starker shipper. Ya'll know what I mean.
> 
> Otherwise-- please enjoy the ride with me!

It starts out simple enough, like all crushes do. 

It didn’t help that he had  _ always  _ liked Iron Man, and had  _ always  _ admired Stark Industries’ tech-- being recruited by Tony Stark himself was just the nail in the coffin. Then, working closely with him ended up being the final bit of dirt on top of his grave.

“The whole lab? Really? Like, all the time?” Peter said excitedly, staring around at Tony’s lab as if he was seeing it for the first time despite not much being any different from the last time he was here a couple days ago, working on a project with Tony.

“Sure, kid. Why not? You have more free time than I do and I think I know you well enough to trust you not to spill-- or  _ livestream  _ company secrets.” Tony responds, arms crossed as he leans against one of his many work tables. He’s wearing glasses right now, clear lenses with black frames and there’s a pen between his teeth he pulls out a second later and tosses on the table with a clack.

Peter smiles sheepishly, his ears burning as he remembers streaming one of his first times in the lab to Ned and MJ, but it wasn’t a private feed and there was a  _ huge  _ debacle with the PR team and Twitter and the media and-- it was taken care of eventually but Peter had been banned from even taking pictures while visiting any Stark-related locations. “Ah, yeah, I promise I won’t do that again.” He says, fingers curling around the sleeves of his too-big sweater. He barely meets Tony’s eyes.

“I know you won’t.” Tony says assuredly, pushing himself off the table and walking towards Peter until he’s only a couple feet away. “Which is why I’m giving you full clearance to this lab, any time of day, for the rest of forever.” He pauses for a beat. “At least, until something explodes. Which will happen. Multiple times. So push the first one off as long as possible and we’ll be peachy.” His hands are on his hips now and he’s watching the different shades of pink flush across Peter’s skin that he can see.

Peter can’t contain it, though he tries, but the excitement and knowledge that Tony Stark trusts him and only him to access his personal lab any hour of any day for as long as Peter wants is-- it’s too much. It’s too much and Peter’s too happy and before he knows it his arms are around Tony’s neck, his body practically jumping onto the older man as he  _ squeezes _ .

Peter feels Tony huff out a surprised bit of air, muffled into his shoulder. There are large hands that land on his hips and Peter can feel how firm Tony’s body is against his own this way, stomach against stomach, chest against chest-- and Peter’s young and excited but he’s not stupid, so Peter knows he should pull away and apologize-- but then he feels Tony shift.

And then Tony’s arms slide around Peter’s lithe body, squeezing and pulling the younger impossibly closer-- and Peter can’t hold in the gasp he lets out. His heart is beating a mile a minute and with their proximity he wonders if Tony can feel or hear it and is minutely embarrassed at the thought-- but then he’s distracted by how long they stay like this. Maybe time is going slow for him because he’s holding Tony Stark and  _ Tony Stark is holding him _ but Peter is sure that this hug is going on much longer than any normal hug would, and he doesn’t know what to do with that information.

Tony pulls away first, and Peter isn’t naive enough to resist letting go, but he fails at removing himself completely and instead settles with his hands resting on Tony’s chest while their bodies put excruciating inches between themselves. This way he can feel how warm Tony’s body is under his fingertips for just a moment, before they pull apart and this memory overtakes Peter’s brain and dreams for the next week.

But-- Tony doesn’t pull away. Instead, he stays standing there, hands loosely on Peter’s hips, and doesn’t bother to move further than that. Peter notices this immediately, and if his body was warm before, it was  _ blazing  _ now, especially as he chances a look upwards and sees Tony  _ watching  _ him and--

Tony takes a full step backwards, turning away from Peter as he coughs, and Peter’s front feels oddly cold but his blood is still running hot. He barely registers what Tony is saying in those next few moments, his own mind distracted by whatever the  _ hell  _ just happened.

“I have a couple things I gotta get back to but feel free to stick around as long as you want, kid.” And as he walks out, he throws a hand up in a type of wave without looking back and a final “Don’t blow anything up, remember!” 

And then Peter is alone, in the middle of Tony’s lab, with the feeling of Tony’s body  _ all  _ over him, and Tony’s cologne surrounding him, and Tony’s  _ look  _ burned into his brain.

_ Dangerous,  _ Peter thinks, entirely at himself because just now-- just now had never happened before-- and whatever just now even  _ was,  _ was just  _ enough  _ for Peter to think up something entirely and irrationally impossible-- and he should squash it before it becomes something more and go back to how he was living before this moment, but he can’t.

It’s there- the tiny, itty-bitty spark of  _ maybe.  _ A dangerous, dangerous idea.

The idea that maybe this isn’t one-sided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very humble chapter uno to get the ball rolling. v_v/
> 
> I full plan on continuing this in my free time (which is very little), but comments really help encourage me!
> 
> Thanks for reading, hehe.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Lab?_
> 
>  
> 
> _sure_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank ya'll for bein' so patient with me. Here's a longer chapter as a reward, hehe.

It’s a distraction, and usually Peter would welcome _any_ type of distraction that included Mr. Stark, but this was inconvenient. He hadn’t been able to fully focus in his classes since _the hug_ , his brain running on overdrive over-analyzing _every_ little thing about those short, insignificant, _intimate_ thirty-seconds that had happened the other day in the lab.

 _It was just a hug, get over yourself._ He tells himself five times a day. But then, _what if it wasn’t-_ always follows, and he’s back to over-analyzing.

He can still feel those large hands slide from his back diagonally down to his waist to rest heavy on his hips, the heat of a body against his stomach, firm and--

“Hey, dude, did you even hear what I said?” Ned’s voice snapped Peter out of his daze. He hadn’t realized they were still standing at Peter’s locker while they switched textbooks for their next period. 

“Sorry, what?” He says automatically, eyebrows raising and watching his best friend roll his eyes.

“C’mon man, don’t blank on me now! School isn’t even halfway over yet.” Ned complains, and Peter closes his locker.

“Sorry,” He says again. “I just have a lot on my mind.” Which wasn’t a lie, really.

“That internship still wringing you dry?” Ned asks as they start walking down the hall, weaving through other kids as necessary who were obviously not going to move aside for them.

“What? _No,_ no, that’s fine. Why would you say that?” Peter asks, a bit defensive.

“Nothing, nothing! Just…” Ned starts, and Peter wants to roll his eyes. “You’re already taking a couple higher level classes, we both take some of them together so I _know_ what your homework situation is like, and you barely got those assignments done on time before the internship. You’re practically at it every day after school now! We haven’t hung out since _two Fridays_ ago!” His voice was growing louder, like it typically does when Ned talks for an extended period of time on something he has any sort of opinion on, and Peter has to shush him. He doesn’t need the attention from everyone in the hall for any reason.

“I know, I know, but I’m alright. He lets me do my homework in the lab sometimes when I can’t fit it in anywhere else.” Peter reassures, deciding not to tell Ned about the last two homework assignments he didn’t turn in simply because he didn’t _do_ them-- he’d been busy. His grades weren’t suffering, it was fine. It was cool. He really didn’t need to be reminded about the lab out loud, though.

He remembered the way Tony had lingered, their bodies so close, and if Peter had just tipped his head up just a little, and stood on his toes as high as he could go, then he would’ve been able to--

“Well, text me or something the next time you’re free, yeah? Promise?” Ned asks, and Peter finds himself nodding and agreeing immediately just to placate his friend out of this weird whiny-lecture-not-lecture, and then they’re separating to go to their different periods before the bell rings again.

The day goes by slow, but also fast, but also way too slow, but also Peter is too distracted to really count the minutes, but he totally is, because as soon as the last bell rings he plans on texting Tony to see if he can come by the lab today. He hadn’t been there since-- well, since _the hug_ happened, having been busy with he and May’s weekly movie-night-and-catch-up date and then deciding to patrol the streets for a couple hours and clear his head by swinging from building to building at too-fast-per-hour.

However, twenty minutes before his last class was finished, he got a text first. The screen of his Starkphone-- a gift and a reward for going to Germany and ‘doing his best’-- lit up with a text, prefaced by a sunglasses emoji and the peace-sign emoji.

Peter ignored the way his heart skipped a beat and tried not to feel too embarrassed that he snatched up his phone at such a desperate speed.

 _Hey. u busy?_ The text read. Simple, short, not entirely sweet, but enough to make Peter type out a reply instantly.

_yea im in class rn_

_I mean after,_ Tony’s next text read.

Peter paused, debating on what he should say. No, he wasn’t busy, and he was going to ask to come over, but he didn’t want to be that obvious-- and he didn’t want to seem overeager either, which was extremely hard to do.

_Nah. Why?_

Casual, simple, not embarrassing. The reply he received a moment later was even shorter than his.

_Lab?_

Peter tried not to vibrate out of his seat with the intensity of his juvenile excitement. He took a moment to breathe and almost typed out _‘love to’_ before deleting that and replacing it with something a little less disgustingly mushy and incriminating of his feelings.

_sure_

“Mr. Parker--” His teacher’s shrill voice entered his ears, followed by a very long call out on texting in class. The kids around him snickering into their hands and even Flash calling out a type of insult didn’t deter Peter’s mood, though. He felt as though he were floating-- _high on life,_ is this what people meant when they said that? It sure felt like it. 

Class couldn’t end fast enough, but eventually Peter stepped out the sleek black car with an enthusiastic farewell to Happy who didn’t at all return the favor but Peter had already closed the door before he could notice his driver’s lack of excitement. Peter bounced up the steps to the Compound doors, and then pushed his fingers against the small blue and black screen next to them. While he waited for a response, he marveled at the modernness of the place and loved how clean the air was here. The forty-five minute drive (an hour with traffic, sometimes) was worth it. He wondered if May would want to move closer to Upstate because then it wouldn’t take so long to--

 _“How may I help you today?”_ Friday’s chipper voice came, interrupting Peter’s thoughts.

“It’s me, Peter! Peter Parker. Uh, y’know, _Spider-Man,”_ He said the last part in a very hushed tone, as if anyone could hear him, as if he wasn’t entirely alone on the large patio in front of the entrance to the Compound-- as if over half its residents hadn’t abandoned it earlier in the year.

Peter idly wondered how full this place must’ve been before the whole Accords issue. Before the man clad in red-white-and-blue on his instructional videos he watched in school every quarter was a war-criminal. Before Tony had showed up at he and May’s apartment and offered to take him away to Germany to _fight_ said war-criminal.

 _“Come in, Peter.”_ FRIDAY says in a voice that’s almost soothing. Peter hears the doors unlock with a loud click and he finds himself pushing inside easily. When he realized there was an extreme lack of bodies waiting for him on the other side, Peter spoke.

“Is Mr. Stark in the lab already?” He asked, his head tilting up towards the ceiling, the memory of Tony telling him that he doesn’t need to do that because FRIDAY isn’t _in_ the ceiling coming back to him. He had yet to break the habit.

There’s a pause, as there always is while FRIDAY scans the house and considers how she’ll answer Peter’s question. It would make Peter uneasy if he wasn’t so incredibly _fascinated_ with all of Tony’s A.I.’s.

 _“Mr. Stark is not, but he will meet you there momentarily. Do you need help finding your way, Peter?”_ FRIDAY asks, and Peter loves how natural her voice sounds. Siri and Alexa have _nothing_ on FRIDAY.

“Nah, I know where it is!” Peter says and he shrugs his backpack up over his shoulders a little higher, pulls out his phone and shoots his aunt a quick text about being home later than usual, not waiting for a reply before he puts his phone back in his pocket and springs forward into a half-jog towards the elevators.

Peter is in the lab in mere moments, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale. Metal, oil, a hint of Axe body spray, and something he can’t place but is so distinctly _Tony_ attacks his nose in the most pleasant of ways. He loves this lab, loves coming here, loves working on projects and his suit with Tony for _hours_ and losing track of time and--

The elevator doors open behind him, and he turns around immediately and then _squeaks_.

Tony is _right there_ , as Peter didn’t walk any further into the lab after he exited the elevator. The billionaire is inches away, clad in a dark grey tee with loose track pants on and an expensive watch and--

\--the scent of alcohol, detected by Peter only because of their proximity, so faint but otherwise unhidden.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter exclaims, pretends his voice didn’t crack. His eyes meet Tony’s, but his smile fades slightly at how… how _tired_ Tony looks. More than Tony usually does, which is saying something. Which is concerning. Peter is concerned, and as he looks closer he can see the dark circles and the red rims of Tony’s eyes and Peter’s smile fades further, his mouth opening to voice a question.

“Hey, kid. Glad you could make it. You bring the suit?” Tony says, side-stepping Peter and walking past him, but not before placing a large hand on the kid’s head and tousling his soft brown hair for a moment. His back is to Peter when he hears an answer.

“Yeah, of course-- and yeah! I did. Are we working on it today?” Peter asks, shaking off the _worry_ that rests at the back of his skull. The scent of alcohol, the tired eyes-- Peter wonders if something happened. He wants to ask, and almost does, but Tony beats him to speaking.

“Wanted to, if it’s cool with you.” Tony says, and of course Peter’s cool with it, so he continues, “I know your current model isn’t really up to Stark Standard, so I wanted to see what I could do to make it a bit closer to the status quo.” He’s leaning against the workbench, arms crossed over his chest and Peter resists the urge to look at the way Tony’s biceps flex with the action.

Peter pulls his backpack off, unzipping the front pocket and reaching into it to pull out the familiar red and blue mess of fabric. “I mean, what you gave me is pretty great compared to what I had. I really don’t mind this--”

“This is, at best, glorified spandex I whipped up on a time-limit for your debut.” Tony says as he takes the suit, and Peter knows he’s talking about Germany. He sets his backpack down and pads over to Tony’s side, watching as his suit is laid across the table. “See,” Tony says. “This shit’s already fraying around the edges here and right here. _Garbage.”_

Peter laughs, because it’s always funny when Tony swears since he only does it when he’s working in the lab, but something uneasy settles in his stomach. Something about Tony’s tone wasn’t quite right. “It isn’t that bad, really.” Peter says, shrugging.

“I might as well have dressed you up in a damn thirty-thread-count bed sheet.” Tony responds, stubborn. “If you’re going out on the reg, then you need something that can keep up with it and _not_ chafe you in all the wrong parts. Trust me on that.” He’s flipping over Peter’s suit now, leaning down to look specifically at the edges of the fingers and neck, the cowl of the suit still in Peter’s bag.

“What’re you thinking?” Peter asks, slightly desperate for more words to fill the air between them. He was still feeling weird, the mix of the memories of the hug, and Tony Stark being so close, and being in Tony’s lab, and the smell of alcohol and the tiredness to Tony’s features all scrambling together to make Peter feel nearly nauseous with over-thought.

“I have a couple ideas. I might have to invent an entirely new fabric to do them all, but that’s cake.” Tony then stands up and looks at his ward. “You have any specific requests? Questions, concerns, curiosities?” He added.

“Uh, I like it lightweight.” Peter says, smiles at the _duh_ sound that comes from Tony’s mouth in reply. “Something waterproof would be cool though. I’ve been through some storms before and it isn’t really fun to have to peel a skin-tight suit off by yourself in your tiny bathroom. It also starts to smell after that too.” He laughs, looking up at Tony-- and his laugh is cut short.

Tony is looking at him, an expression that Peter can’t read _at all_ on his face but it’s enough to make Peter’s ears burn and to feel self-conscious and he forces his eyes away in favor of looking back at the suit. He swallows and his stomach coils and his chest pounds. It’s _so_ warm, suddenly.

“Right,” Tony says after a few more seconds, and he coughs and startles Peter with the noise. “Well, not sure if I’ll make the next one machine-washable, so I’ll see what I can do about that.” And then he turns away, picking up a tablet and pulling up some old files. “Waterproof, lightweight… bullet-resistant,” he mumbled, and Peter can only hear him thanks to his advanced hearing.

“Bullet resistant? How are you going to do that? I can’t swing around in a hunk of metal.” Peter asks, and picturing the idea of just _trying_ to wear something like the Iron Man suit _and_ swing freely around the buildings of New York-- it just wasn’t happening. His arms would rip off!

“Hush, Daddy’s working.” Came Tony’s immediate reply, a hand waving him off, but Tony doesn’t look up from his tablet. Which is good, because Peter’s face grew three shades more red.

Daddy? _Daddy?_ Did Tony just call himself that? Does he even _know_ what that word means nowadays?

And before Peter could stop himself, the train of Over Thinking has left the station at a hundred miles an hour.

“Why don’t you do some homework or something? If you have any other ideas, yell them out, and if I need your help I’ll grab you.” Tony says nonchalantly, walking away to another part of the lab to expand his notes onto a holographic screen.

“Ah, yeah, sure.” Is Peter’s reply as he hauls his book bag up onto the workbench, pushing aside his spider suit to make room for two of his text books and a folder. He idly opens up all his homework and lays it out in front of him, but he can’t focus. It’s _so_ warm in here. He pulls off his too-large hoodie, leaving him in his loose jeans and a white shirt about a size too big on him and let’s his hoodie fall to the floor next to him, kicking it under the workbench with his foot.

He stares at his AP Physics textbook, worksheet and pen in hand as he leans over the table, but he’s not at all doing any of it. The formulas aren’t sticking, he’s not even _trying_ to complete the practice problems on the sheet-- he’s too busy. His brain is going a mile a minute, passing by stops that any logical person would consider first before hopping straight to conclusions.

Is Tony Stark his sugar daddy? Is that what this is? Does that make Peter a sugar _baby_ ? Isn’t there something he needs to do in return, if that’s the case? Sure, Tony took him to Germany, and sure, he got a brand new Starkphone from him, and _sure,_ Tony takes him out to lunch and dinner every so often if they’re working really late or really early in the lab, and _sure,_ Tony had recently given him full access to his personal lab when Tony isn’t even _there_ \--

 _Calm down._ He tells himself. _You’re freaking out. Don’t make yourself look like an idiot._ But what are sixteen-year-olds good at if _not_ looking like complete idiots at this kind of stuff? 

His eyes skim over to his history textbook, a black and white picture of some old man with white hair staring eerily back at him. Peter shakes his head and turns back to his less creepy physics homework. Memories of the last time he was in this lab come to him then, the way he had hugged Tony and the way Tony hugged him back and _held_ him afterwards, looking at him like--

Like Tony had _just_ looked at him five minutes ago, when Peter had mentioned about the suit being waterproof. As tired as Tony looked today, Peter saw _something_ there, in those exhausted eyes. The same thing he saw when they were standing so closely together, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, _warm body against warm body._

“What’s up?” Tony’s voice carries through, slicing immediately through Peter’s thoughts.

“Nothing, just homework!” Peter calls back almost instantly, but when he looks up and sees Tony with a cellphone pressed to his face he goes red all over again and turns back to his homework. 

“Nah, just lab work today. Not feeling up to much else.” Tony says, and he’s not quite concealing his conversation so Peter doesn’t feel too guilty focusing on it as much as he is. “Hey, do you happen to know of any fabrics that are waterproof _and_ bulletproof? --Of course not, why do I bother asking.” And then a laugh.

Tony’s laugh, light and airy but genuine, and Peter wonders who he’s talking to. Peter wonders if he’s ever made Tony laugh like that. If he _can_ make Tony laugh like that.

“I haven’t gotten anything from him, no. Not even from his secretary. Apparently as long as I’m not in the suit he doesn’t give a fuck about what I’m doing otherwise.” Tony says, and his voice takes on a sharp edge. Aggressive, almost. The harsh swear startles Peter and he coughs and _immediately_ feels Tony’s eyes on him. Peter puts his all into focusing on the lines of formulas and text in front of him, forcing himself to ignore the way he knows Tony is walking over to him suddenly.

“Not sure. Apparently I have to write a report every time I decide to, though. It’s almost as bad as working with Fury.” Tony says as he leans against the workbench next to Peter. Peter swallows loudly, immediately feeling the heat Tony’s body gives off, and if he were to lean a little closer they would be touching and that makes him dizzy. Dizzy enough to lay his head in his arms against the table, the cool metal surface refreshing against the skin of his forehead. There’s a breeze against a small part of his back now, a sliver of skin exposed as he raised his arms and pulled his shirt up just a fraction.

He listens to Tony talk, some chatter about some other technical things Peter doesn’t really care for. And then he feels it-- a feather light touch against his back. The feeling of two fingers gliding against his skin almost lazily. 

Peter’s breath hitches in his throat as he realizes that Tony’s _touching_ him-- which isn’t typically unusual. Tony usually has a hand on him in some way; on his shoulder to guide him around the lab, a hand in his hair to muss it up, on his back as he introducing him to people like Happy-- but this… this is different, Peter decides. Tony has _never_ touched him like this.

He can feel those fingers glide back and forth across his skin and then upwards, pushing his shirt up _just_ a fraction to reach more skin on his back and Peter dares not to move, not even _breathe,_ just in case it breaks this small moment of _whatever this is_ and it ends. Peter doesn’t want it to end, he realizes.

“If you could send me a copy of that-- yeah, that would be good. I’ll get to it when I can.” Tony says, stopping his movements in favor of laying his palm flat against the small of Peter’s back. “Hey, by the way, do you think metal can be… I don’t know, _weavable?”_ He says into the phone. “It’s just a thing I’m trying-- No, not for me specifically, but I was curious. --Anyway, cool, thanks. I’ll get to it. Shoot me a text later because I’ll forget as soon as I hang up, I guarantee. -- Yeah, bye.” And Tony presses the _end call_ button on the screen of his phone, then, and pushes away from the bench.

Peter hopes his mentor doesn’t hear the low whine that escapes him when the hand on his back leaves. He pulls his head up, blinking owlishly.

“Sorry about that. Rhodey gets a bit needy sometimes.” Tony says casually, but nearly stops short when he looks over at the kid.

Peter is looking at him, cheeks flushed, eyes nearly half-lidded, bent over the table with his stomach flat on it.

“You good?” Tony asks.

“Huh?” Peter says stupidly, before reality hits him full force and he’s straightening up at lightning speed, pushing a textbook and his bag onto the floor in his scramble. “Oh, crap,” He says and he leans down to immediately pick them up but ends up hitting his head on the underside of the table hard enough to _hurt_ and Peter drops his book again. Except it lands on his foot, the very edge of his smallest toe, and he’s down. His ass hits the cold floor and he hisses. “ _Crap.”_ He says again.

Tony hasn’t moved, his face growing a tad more mortified by the passing second while watching this whole thing unravel. “What just happened.” He says in a way that's not a question, looking like he’s going to step forward to help the kid up but otherwise not moving.

 _You tell me!_ Peter wants to yell back because _what the hell just happened_ is a damn good question for the last ten minutes of his life. Peter can still feel the heat of Tony’s _entire hand_ against the skin of his back, burning like fire, scalding itself into his memory. 

“I think I dozed off.” Came Peter’s lame reply instead.

“There’s a couch over there-- nap if you need to. Free of charge.” Tony offers, but seems satisfied enough with Peter’s answer so he turns back to his own table full of holographs and algorithms flittering along the surface, responding to the movement of Tony's hands.

“Thanks. I might.” Peter says, rubbing his aching head and kicking his history textbook away from him out of spite. He stands eventually but leaves that particular book on the ground with his hoodie and goes to attack his physics homework once more. This time, with feeling.

The feeling of fingers touching his skin, pushing up his shirt-- a hand flat on his spine, almost possessive in its nature.

Peter stays there for a couple more hours, Tony going in and out of the lab for various reasons but otherwise not paying attention to him further, continuing to mumble to himself every so often as he loses himself in his work.

Meanwhile, Peter’s homework never gets finished, his stomach twisting and his heart picking up speed every time Tony walks by him.

 _There’s definitely something_ , Peter decides. _It’s not just me._

And with that realization, Peter comes to another problem.

What in the actual _hell_ is he supposed to do about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally moving forward! Oh, Peter, please finish your homework...


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for substance abuse/alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, exposition, plot? IDK. I love to hurt and that's what this is, basically.
> 
> BTW I've gotten so many nice comments on just the first two boring chapters and it's gonna make me cry!!! I can't believe so many people like this as passionately as they do-- I'm so afraid of disappointing everyone, ahaha. Thank you so much for all the support... I'm in love.

“So…” Peter starts, earning the attention of his two friends sitting at the cafeteria table with him. Ned and Michelle wait patiently for him to continue, but Peter takes a second to push his highschool-quality macaroni and cheese around on his tray in hesitation. 

“Spit it out, nerd.” Michelle says, and it’s the push Peter needs to open his mouth and speak.

“How do you guys, uh, get… attention?” Peter asked, and he regretted his words immediately. 

“Attention? Like, what kind of attention?” Ned asks, and Peter backtracks.

“No, no, not attention.” Because Peter already  _ has  _ a lot more attention from Tony than most people do. Lack of attention isn’t the problem, per se, and he doesn’t want to be selfish. The man is busy and always makes time for Peter as much as he can, which sends butterflies to Peter’s stomach whenever he thinks too much about it. “Just… you know.” He says, his voice dwindling and his cheeks heating up.

“... No, I don’t really.” Ned says, slowly at first and watching his best friend with a look of puzzlement.

“What kind of attention we talking about, Parker?” Michelle says, her tone and guarded expression giving absolutely nothing away. Peter should shrug the whole thing off, internally scolding himself for even thinking that asking his two  _ single  _ highschool friends about  _ relationship stuff  _ was anywhere  _ near  _ a good idea. 

“Yeah, what kind of attention? Attention,” Ned seems to catch on, and leaned in close to say the next part. “Or  _ attention- _ attention?” He whispers, and Peter minutely debates on stuffing his face full of his questionable mac’n’cheese in order to avoid answering the question.

“I-I don’t… I don’t  _ know,  _ forget it.” Peter says, hunching in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. Ned seems to get the hint and he lets the topic go with little hesitation, but Peter can still feel Michelle’s gaze on him. He avoids it. “Um. Did you guys do the homework for next period?” He asks in a desperate attempt to change the topic.

Michelle’s eyes narrow, but she seems to get the message and returns her eyes to her own open book. “I’m protesting Mark’s class.” She says cooly.

“Dude, it is  _ so  _ weird you call Mr. Youngblood by his first name.” Ned sighs, a look of distaste on his face. “Besides, what is not doing the homework going to do but lower your grade?”

“I’m not going to willingly do work for someone who has the same last name as a vampire but claims to have none of the political concerns of one. When he’s willing to talk, I’m willing to fill out the assignment sheets.” Michelle answered cooly.

Peter tunes out at this point as his two friends busy themselves with a conversation about their AP Physics teacher. His own mind was occupied with much more. Too much more, actually, and none of it was about homework. Or school, for that matter. Some of it was about whether or not he should go out and patrol for a bit this evening. The rest of it-- the majority of his thoughts-- were filled with a certain billionaire.

The feeling of Tony’s hands on his body stayed with him, long after the initial hug that brought everything to the forefront of Peter’s mind-- and even now, after Tony had his hands on Peter’s lower back the last time he was in the lab. 

That was over a week ago. Tony hadn’t contacted him since then, and Peter had been too embarrassed and caught up in himself and overthinking the situation that he never reached back out, and at this point he figured he’d waited too long to ask about any Spidey upgrades without making it seem weird.

“Hey, I can see the steam coming out of your ears.” Michelle’s voice cuts through his thoughts, as does the feeling of a book being tapped on top of his head. Peter turns to look at her, noticing that she had her backpack on and their trays had been thrown out. Ned was nowhere to be seen. “Class is soon.” Michelle adds.

“Oh.” Is all Peter can offer, and he quickly stands to gather his things.

“Attention, or  _ attention- _ attention?” Michelle asks. 

Peter pauses as he picks up his tray of nearly-untouched food. He looks at her, meeting her narrowed, thoughtful gaze as he swallows loudly.

“Uhm…” He starts, and he feels warm again. He drops his own gaze. “Attention-attention.” He confirms.

“Huh. Didn’t take you for the  _ pining  _ type.” Michelle says as she tucks her book underneath her arm and shrugs her backpack up higher on her shoulder. “Have you tried giving them a gift?” And Peter doesn’t miss the way she doesn’t say  _ ‘her’,  _ automatically. 

“Huh?” Peter asks, staring at her. “A… gift?” He asks.

She nods. “Yeah. Most people like presents. I know you’re kind of broke, but even something small can mean a lot to people who, you know,  _ care  _ about that stuff.” She says, but then turns away to leave. “Try it. See if it works.” Are her last words before Peter is left alone at the table.

“Oh, thanks. Thank you!” Peter tries calling back, a little too late to not be awkward and get’s a couple of passing gazes that make him hunch in on himself again as he goes to throw his tray away.

A gift, huh? He hadn’t considered that. Mainly because the person he would be supposedly getting a gift for was a  _ billionaire  _ and could get whatever he wanted, way more better and more expensive than anything Peter could hope of gifting to Mr. Stark.

But… it wasn’t like he had any other ideas to try. Maybe, if he talked to Mr. Stark long enough, he could pick up on something that would be a pretty good idea for a present. It was a far-fetched plan, all things considered-- but Peter yearned for any excuse to go and visit the lab again.

Tony hadn’t invited him to the lab recently but Peter hadn’t asked, either. However, Mr. Stark did give Peter full access to his lab anytime he wanted. Maybe he could just drop in and say hi? Maybe that would be a pleasant surprise for them both, to see each other after a week of no contact. Would Tony be as excited as Peter to see him? Would it be a good thing?

Maybe Tony would be so happy to see him after such a busy week that the man would hug him again?

The concept made Peter’s cheeks warm, and it was the deciding factor to send a text to Happy to ask him if he could please pick him up after school today.

The rest of the school day, and even the drive to the Compound was slow to someone as anxious as Peter was in those moments. He tried killing time by asking Happy some questions, mainly about what Mr. Stark’s favorite foods were and perhaps his favorite colors, but it turned out to be futile as the only answers he got was akin to  _ Cheeseburgers  _ and  _ Red and Gold, Probably,  _ which, well-- Peter kind of already knew but he wasn’t about to give Tony a burger as a gift.

“Here you go, kid. Don’t call me.” Happy says as Peter gets out of the car and thanks him. 

“What if I need a ride back home?” Peter asks through the rolled-down window of the passenger door.

“Then call me.” Happy responds, shifting gears in the car.

“But you said--” 

“I know what I said.” And Happy drives off, rolling the window up as he goes and leaves Peter staring after him in question. After a moment, he shakes his head and turns to go inside.

Peter had a bit of anxiety about asking for entry and getting past FRIDAY because what if Tony wasn’t actually serious about Peter being here whenever he wanted? Would he still need permission? Did Tony remember to tell FRIDAY that Peter was allowed?

_ "Welcome, Peter.”  _ FRIDAY’s smooth voice says, and the doors unlock automatically for him.  _ “Do you remember your way?” _

“Oh-- yeah, yeah I do.” Peter says, a smile on his face because Tony really did give him access. “Is Mr. Stark here?” He asks, because it would be pretty pointless if Tony had been at his penthouse or away on a business trip. Why hadn’t Peter considered that? Well, if anything, he could always just do homework in the living room while lounging on the plush couch that was softer than anything Peter had ever felt in his life. Then, he could try to surprise-visit another day--

_ “Boss is in the lab, Peter. Did you want me to notify him of your presence?”  _ FRIDAY asks, and alright, it’s a surprise visit today and homework tomorrow.

“No, that’s alright. I’ll just head down. Thank you!” Peter says, unable to prevent himself from looking at the ceiling again when he’s talking to FRIDAY.

He makes quick work of getting to the elevators, hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulders and considering taking his zip-up hoodie off. Would he look better or worse with just a plain t-shirt and jeans? The hoodie was oversized, but Michelle had mentioned how it really worked on him like that (but he had no idea if she was joking or not, now that he thought about it).

Peter was so preoccupied in his thoughts that when the elevator doors opened to nothing but silence and  _ dim lighting,  _ his stomach lurched.

Something… wasn’t right. 

Whenever Tony was in the lab, music was  _ always  _ playing. Whether at high, deafening volumes or low enough to just be background noise, there was always  _ something.  _ It was never silent if he was here, and FRIDAY had said he was in the lab.

The other thing that caught him off guard was the lighting. It wasn’t entirely dark, but it definitely wasn’t as bright as he had seen it prior. Overall, though, it was  _ creepy.  _ And Peter, believe it or not, was hesitant to step out of the elevator.

“Are you sure he’s in here? Mr. Stark, I mean? Like you said?” Peter asked, standing at the elevator doors, not quite out yet.

_ “He is in the lab, Peter.”  _ FRIDAY responds in the elevator, and it’s enough of a confirmation that Peter steps off of the brightly lit lift and into the dim silence of the lab.

It isn’t so dark that Peter can’t see, but his enhanced vision really helps. He’s looking around, noticing all the screens are off or on standby, which Peter has also never seen.

A couple more steps in, and Peter finally sees him.

There’s what’s clearly the body of a grown man seated in a stool but slumped over a workbench not unlike someone who had fallen asleep in class. The concept relieves Peter a bit because oh, Mr. Stark had just passed out during his work and FRIDAY had probably dimmed the lights and music for him out of courtesy-- but then Peter’s stomach twists as he gets closer.

He can smell the sweat and oil and AXE as he approaches, can see the way Tony’s chest rises and falls from here though the man is turned away from him. 

Peter can also smell the alcohol, strong and burning in his nose, and once he’s standing near the workbench he can see the nearly empty bottle of some sort of amber liquid. There’s an empty one off to the side, amid a Starkpad and some papers.

Staring at the scene, Peter doesn’t really know what to do. He feels something in him twist, and a frown is on his lips as he stares between the bottles and empty glasses and Tony, laying on the bench, smelling so strongly of it now that Peter is closer. It’s a weird thing to see someone you idolize, your childhood hero, in a situation like this. 

Something in Peter’s chest is pulling uncomfortably tight, and for a moment he considers leaving. Coming back another day, when Tony is awake and sober and better--

But that wouldn’t be right, would it? To have seen Tony like this and leave, and have Tony wake up to FRIDAY telling him that Peter had come and upon seeing the man, ran away. What kind of impression would that leave? What kind of message would that send?

“FRIDAY, how long has… has Mr. Stark…” Peter starts, but stops himself. “Nevermind.” He says, not wanting to know how long the man has been here. He takes a moment to consider what to do.

He has to wake him, he knows that. Tony can’t stay here, it’s not good for his body or sleep in any way, but Peter doesn’t know where the man’s bedroom is, or if Tony would even want to go back to sleep after he’s been woken up (Peter is fully aware of the fact that Tony seemed to be allergic to sleeping or anything that implied he should) But Peter can’t just…  _ leave  _ him here.

The boy drops his bag to the floor and with a hesitant hand, presses it lightly to Tony’s back. The sleeveless undershirt that Tony is wearing is cool and lightly damp with sweat.

“Mr. Stark… sir,” Peter starts with a light shake, but gets no immediate response. He swallows loudly, his mouth dry as he gives a slightly harder shake. “Mr. Stark, c’mon… you can’t sleep here.” 

Peter can tell when Tony starts to wake up, but he isn’t prepared for the sheer  _ intensity  _ of it. The man’s breath hitches to a stop and within seconds he  _ jerks  _ his entire body violently enough that it makes Peter jump back on instinct. The sound of the stool crashing to the floor as Tony stands makes Peter’s ears ring painfully and he flinches against the harsh clatter. 

Through it all though, Peter can hear the way Tony’s breath quickens and the kid has had enough nightmares and panic attacks of his own to recognize the signs in others. 

“Hey— Mr. Stark—“ Peter starts, stepping closer and reaching for Tony, feeling the man twist away from him upon contact with a choked sound. “No, wait— it’s Peter, Mr. Stark! It’s me,  _ Peter—“  _ And he grabs Tony again, gripping him at the shoulders to turn and face him, trying to steady the wobbling man. 

He can feel Tony shaking under his touch, his breath ragged and dragging out of his throat like he was being strangled.

“I’ve got you—“ Peter says, keeping Tony still and having to tap into his super strength to do so, just a little. Tony is looking around, looking anywhere but at him, and Peter needs to make him focus if they’re going to ever get through this. “Right here, Mr. Stark— look at me,  _ please.”  _

Tony’s eyes land on him, red-rimmed and glassy and terrified and it makes something in Peter ache. 

“Peter?” Tony says, his voice hoarse. His hands come up to grip Peter’s arms in return, needing them to balance himself until he shifts to lean against the workbench. 

“Yeah, Mr. Stark. It’s me.” Peter says and he sounds just as bad. There’s a tightness in his throat, a small panic of his own in the back of his mind that he’s fighting off. Tony is still shaking in his hold but the man’s breathing is slowing, and that’s progress at least.

“Peter,” Tony says again, as if needing confirmation, and Peter nods. 

“I’ve got you.” The kid responds with no confidence at all, and finally,  _ finally  _ he feels Tony’s body relax, slumping his entire weight on the workbench, his hands leaving Peter’s arms in favor of gripping the table’s edge.

Peter is more hesitant to let go of Tony, but he does in an effort to not crowd the man too much, his hands hovering nearby instead. 

He lets Tony breathe for a moment, listening to the struggling inhales and exhales the man does. Peter doesn’t know how long they stand like that, doesn’t know if he should do or say something. 

“Time— what… what time,” Tony tries, but speech isn’t coming to him easily.

“U-uh— a little into the afternoon.” Peter answers. Would it be about 4PM right now? Later? He doesn’t want to check his phone and risk taking Tony out of his sight for even a moment.

“I—“ Tony starts, but can’t seem to say much more. His breathing is growing shallow again, and Peter can’t have another attack happen if he can help it.

“Let’s, uh, let's get out of here.” The kid rushes out. “Let’s go upstairs, Mr. Stark.” He suggests, because anywhere would be better than standing here in the thick air of alcohol and sweat and darkness and  _ panic _ , stepping forward and hesitantly reaching for the man again. 

Peter hears the distinct drag of glass on metal and a glance down shows him that Tony has the bottle in his hand, the dark golden liquid sloshing around. 

_ “No,”  _ is Peter’s instant response, loud and stern, cutting through the silence between them. Immediately he’s there in Tony’s space, one hand on Tony’s wrist and the other gripping the bottle and pulling it out of his fingers, setting it far on the bench. “You don’t need that.” Peter says, turning back to Tony, prepared to keep him from reaching for it again. 

What he isn’t prepared for is the man leaning into him, his forehead against Peter’s shoulder, the heat of his body scorching the front of Peter’s with their proximity.

Tony moans, a miserable and pained sound in Peter’s ear, but then makes no further movements. 

There’s a moment of uncertainty for Peter. His cheeks are hot with the sudden closeness that it nearly short-circuits his brain despite the circumstances. It takes a long moment before Peter is able to mentally catch up with the situation, and when he does, he swallows and lightly places his hands on Tony’s sides.

When Tony barely stirs, Peter gets a bit more confidence in his grip. He’d be a fool to not notice how firm the man’s body is. Of course Iron Man would have to be fit, he knew that and Peter wasn’t quite sure what he expected-- but the intimacy of this situation sent his heart hammering and his cheeks blazing.

“C’mon,” He starts, voice low as to not disturb Tony so much. “Let’s go-- walk with me, okay? I’ll help you, b-but you gotta… you gotta help me too, alright?” Peter says, and it’s been a long time since he’s had to do this. So long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to bear the entire weight of a much larger, drunk human being.

If Peter thinks about it too much, the panic he feels in the back of his skull becomes much louder than just background noise, and he can’t have that. Not right now. Not when Tony needs him.

The super strength helps, so at least there’s that now.

When they’re finally in the elevator, Peter asks FRIDAY to take them to the living area; a large living room with a flat screen TV bigger than Peter’s bed and a huge kitchen just adjacent to it. It was one of several lounge areas the Compound had, but this one had more of a domestic touch than the party vibe the others exhibited. He was hyper aware now of the bar that was also in there (as there was one in nearly every gathering place).

It isn’t long before Peter’s walking them both off of the elevator and down the short hall, past a couple of doors Peter had never looked behind. He idly wondered if any one of them was a bedroom-- but he didn’t have much time to look right now. The couch would have to do, which was Peter’s original goal. The couch and the immediately accessible kitchen.

By the time they’re passing the kitchen, Tony is barely bothering to help walk and Peter can only do so much even with his enhanced powers. 

“C’mon, we just have a little bit more to go…” Peter attempts, one of his arms having been wrapped around Tony’s middle while the other kept Tony’s arm over his shoulders. He could hold up most of Tony’s weight this way, but it wasn’t easy. Peter could probably pick the man up entirely, actually, but that wouldn’t last forever without some serious strain and Peter wasn’t in the right state of mind to focus on not toppling over. 

Peter’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice in time the feeling of Tony pulling away from him with too much force to ever hope of staying upright. “Whoa,  _ hey _ !” Peter says as he grabs at Tony, but he ends up pulled along with the man because at the end of the day Peter doesn’t weigh nearly as much as any of the Avengers, human or otherwise.

The kitchen island is nearby, and before Tony can pull them both to the floor Peter makes a grab for it because if Tony goes down, Peter isn’t confident he can get him up again. His hands grip the polished oak of the island’s counter top and he  _ pulls  _ them both in the direction of it with a grunt between clenched teeth, pretty much bearing the entire weight of a whole adult male with one arm and it  _ hurt,  _ if he was being honest.

But it works. Peter’s able to put most of his own weight against the counter so he can focus on shifting Tony’s, pulling the man towards him and away from the floor and instead towards the kitchen island where he could stabilize himself, before they attempt the last bit of distance between here and the large couch just a few more feet away.

What Peter doesn’t expect though, is for Tony to grip the counter with both hands, each on either side of Peter with their foreheads pressed together and their bodies only inches apart.

An audible gasp comes from Peter as he freezes up, eyes wide as he notes that Tony’s eyes are very much shut. His hands are still on Tony’s sides, firm to keep him steady, but Peter’s too distracted to be flustered now by the feeling of Tony’s clammy forehead on his own. Their noses are  _ touching,  _ and Peter can feel Tony’s breath on his face.

He’s effectively trapped between the kitchen island and Tony, which would have sent Peter’s heart directly into cardiac arrest if not for the mood-killing scent of alcohol on Tony’s breath with each exhale and to feel how utterly feverish the man’s skin is to the touch. His eyes are squeezed against some sort of pain, too, and overall he just doesn’t look  _ good  _ in any sense of the word.

“Mr. Stark, hey, it’s alright.” Peter says because they can’t very well  _ stay  _ like this. “We’re almost there, then you can lay down, okay?” 

Tony grumbles something, words too jumbled for Peter to decipher and he doesn’t even bother trying. The edge of the counter is digging sharply into his back and Tony is pushing him further into it the longer they stand.

“Just a bit more, c’mon-- we gotta move, sir.” Peter says.

“Hmngh-- Sorry--” Tony says, and he moves his head to rest on Peter’s shoulder again, his stubble dragging against Peter’s jaw in the movement.

“It’s alright-- It’s… it’s okay. We just gotta keep moving.” Peter says. “Don’t gotta say sorry-- we just need to keep going, okay?”

He feels Tony nod against his shoulder with another mess of sounds and Peter takes a breath before he shifts them again, throwing Tony’s arm over his shoulders and using both arms to wrap tight around the man’s middle this time.

“M’sorry…” Tony says again, and Peter shushes him.

“Just keep walking, okay? Then you can lay down and it’ll be better.” 

“Didn’t--  _ hnngg-- _ Didn’t mean--” 

“J-just… keep walking,” Peter interrupts him, “We’re so close,” he adds. Tony’s face is nuzzled into his neck, right below his ear, and the heat of the man’s breath and the scratch of his goatee on his skin is sending shivers down his spine.

They make it to the couch,  _ finally,  _ but there’s still effort in  _ sitting  _ Tony onto it versus letting the man just fall into it. Peter still needs Tony upright, at least for a little bit longer.

“Here, sit here, okay? I’m going to get you some water.” Peter says, and Tony nods again with a mumbling sort of sound, laying back against the couch with no intention of moving. The kid is quick in getting up and heading over into the kitchen and in a matter of moments he’s coming back with a small waste bin lined with a plastic bag in one hand a large glass full of water in the other.

He’s kneeling in front of Tony when he pushes the glass into the man’s hands. “Here, drink this.” Peter says, holding Tony’s hands around it, but the man makes no move to actually  _ hold  _ the glass whatsoever so Peter takes to kneeling on the couch next to him and pushing the glass to his lips. “It’s water, it’ll help you. You need it.” 

At this, Tony flails his arm closest to Peter and it’s only thanks to Peter’s reflexes that he pulls the glass just out of reach. “Get-- Get ‘way from--” Tony says, his words slurred as he holds his arms up defensively in front of him, turning away from Peter.

“No, c’mon, you gotta drink this, sir,” Peter says, frowning as he reaches for Tony but immediately gets shrugged off each time. “Mr. Stark--”

“I said  _ leave,  _ dammit!” Tony yells, and somehow he manages to get a hand on Peter’s chest and he  _ shoves _ .

Peter’s enhanced abilities don’t keep him from toppling over, but they do allow him to keep a grip on the glass of water so only half of the liquid sloshes and spills out onto the floor. Peter uses his free hand to push himself back up, feeling the familiar burn of tears gathering at his eyes, his throat growing tight. He mentally scolds himself because he shouldn’t be crying right now, he  _ can’t  _ be, no matter how hard this is for him. He isn’t hurt, he’s  _ fine,  _ and Tony needs his help.

Tony, who is now trying to get up, but Peter reaches forward and grabs him and pulls him back down again, only to be slapped away with another swear in his direction.

Peter’s on his knees next to Tony again, trying to keep a hand on the engineer and on the glass but Tony won’t stop  _ moving,  _ trying to elbow and shove him away, shrugging him off, growling at him as if  _ Peter  _ was the bad guy for keeping him on the couch and offering him  _ water.  _

There are tears on Peter’s cheeks, hot trails down his face that Peter doesn’t bother wiping away. “Mr. Stark--” He starts, and his hand is pushed away again.

“Fuck  _ off,  _ Steve--!” Tony yells.

“Mr. Stark--  _ please!”  _ Peter begs, a sob breaking through because all he wants to do is  _ help,  _ because Tony  _ needs it,  _ even if he doesn’t think so. Even if he doesn’t want it.

It takes Peter a second to notice he’s not being pushed away, and when he looks, he sees Tony’s eyes on him.

The man still has his arms up, half-raised and fists clenched, but his eyes are calculating and his brows are furrowed as he stares at Peter’s face, processing something.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter says, his voice small and after a second he reaches forward, hesitantly grabbing Tony’s wrist and pulling it towards him. When Tony doesn’t immediately pull away, Peter puts the half-full glass of water in his hand and closes his fingers around it. “Please, drink this. Please.” Peter says, and he sounds pathetic to his own ears.

After a long moment, Tony’s eyes leave Peter’s face and look to the glass in his hand. Another long moment, and he finally brings it to his mouth and Peter sags in relief when he takes the first gulp of water. When the glass is empty, Peter takes it and hops off the couch, leaving to get another.

Peter comes back to find Tony’s head in his hands, hunched over on the couch, elbows on his knees. The kid takes a seat next to Tony, laying a hand on Tony’s back and holding the glass in front of him with the other. “Here-- drink this too, okay? You don’t have to drink anymore after if you don’t want to.” Peter says, and he hates how wobbly his voice sounds.

Tony takes a few seconds before he reaches for the glass and takes it from Peter, drinking over half of it before he gives it back and Peter sets it on the ground at their feet. Tony returned his hands to his face, groaning into his palms as Peter rubs his back with jerky movements.

“You need to rest now, okay? You’ll feel better if you lay down.” Peter says, and he stands up so he can guide Tony to laying down on his back against the soft cushions of the couch. Tony goes with little resistance, raising an arm to rest over his eyes. After a second he turns onto his side, back against the back of the couch with one arm tucked under his head and the other laying in front of him.

Peter stands there, watching him, hands raised and ready to help the billionaire move and get more comfortable if needed, but Tony doesn’t shift again, doesn’t even open his eyes-- only the rise and fall of his breathing now present.

A minute or so later, and Peter is sinking to his knees in a heap, pressing his sleeves to his face as he clenches his teeth hard enough to hurt to keep from crying out. His sweater grows wet with hot tears and his shoulders shake. He leans against the couch, muffling his sobs into it.

Too much, too much, too much,  _ too fucking much-- _

Peter felt sick and achy and cold and hot and dizzy all at once, his skin prickling with heat as he worked to calm himself down, trying to keep as quiet as possible as to not disturb the man sleeping just inches away from him. 

He doubted Tony would wake up anytime soon, though, the alcohol still strong in his veins, keeping him down for at least a few more hours. He probably wouldn’t wake up for anything, and Peter knew that too well.

By now, though, Aunt May would have been next to him, shushing him and holding him and thanking him for helping her with Uncle Ben, because she wouldn’t have been able to get him to the couch on her own. She would apologize too, tears in her own eyes, because Peter would be crying every time because it never got easier. There was something horrifying about seeing someone you love look that way, act that way-- so out of their own mind they don’t even recognize their own family. 

It never got easier-- even now, that truth was confirmed again for Peter. He hadn’t needed to do this a while, though, and maybe that’s why it was hitting him so hard.

Too much, too much-- but you’re fine,  _ you’re fine. _

_ You’re not hurt. Nobody is hurt.  _ Peter thought to himself as he buried his head into his arms, curling up against the couch. He forces his breathing down to a slow, consistent rhythm, counting the amount of seconds for each inhale, exhale, and hold, and repeat. 

He lifts his eyes above his arms and looks at Tony, still asleep, breathing soundly as if nothing had happened just minutes prior that sent them both panicking. Peter’s eyes land on Tony’s hand, resting between them both, and after a second of consideration he reaches forward and wraps his fingers around his hand.

Peter has no intention of sleeping, wanting to stay awake just in case Tony would need something-- but it just sort of happens.

He doesn’t let go of Tony’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT BEFORE PEOPLE FREAK OUT ON ME Uncle Ben wasn't a bad guy. He just had a couple issues that Peter had to witness and deal with at a young age and that'll fuck with anybody honestly. And then everything else happened so this whole thing was just a huge trigger for him since he hadn't needed to deal with it in so long. And also, seeing your idol in such a shape has to be devastating too-- It's all just a lot. He's still just a kid, y'know? 
> 
> I can't wait to write the next chapter 8) C'mon Tony wake up and see Peter there!!!!
> 
> (P.S.-- that's a real teacher's last name that I had, lol.)


End file.
